A Sour Introduction
by Momosportif
Summary: Oh my Goddess, it's rhoscar aka RhysxOscar . It's very slight in fact not there at all so you can definitely read it as comrades. Our unfortunate healer has his world turned upside down by one simple question from the whimsical knight. All is Nintendo'


"Oscar! Oscar!" The frenzied shouting finally got the green-clad knight's attention as the shouter neared, "There's someone here to meet you!"

Oscar turned to see his youngest brother, light green eyes bright, sprinting towards him and, patting his feeding horse's side, took the few large steps necessary to meet him.

"Is that so? I don't see anyone but you…" Oscar looked around, scanning the tents for the supposed soon-to-be acquaintance.

Rolf took a few deep breaths and managed, "They're coming… Should be here soon…"

"Ah!" Oscar nodded as a stir in the veritable wall of canvas brought forth a disgruntled looking Soren and an unfamiliar white-robed man with a shock of orange-red hair who was looking around curiously through droopy amber eyes. He stumbled over a tent's stake and into the ever easily irritated mage. The apology poured from his lips accompanied by a small cough and, for all its eloquence, received only a grunt of acceptance. The robe-wearing duo came upon the brothers at last and Soren said dully, clearly ready to be off of introduction duty,

"Oscar, Rhys. Rhys, Oscar. Oscar just returned from the Royal Knight's and Rhys arrived a while before that. Ike very wisely decided that we were in need of another healer," (a more accurate statement would be that Ike very wisely decided to assist in fulfilling Soren's desire to hire on another healer), "Oscar, I assume that you've been re-settling in well and, Rhys, as far as I can tell you're well on your way to being at home so if you will excuse me," Soren stepped backwards, breaking the circle they'd formed while conversing and heading back to the thicker ring of tents, "I'm needed elsewhere."

Rolf released a puff of breath as he and a rather bewildered looking Oscar and Rhys watched the wind mage disappear amid the hustle and bustle of the Greil Mercenaries' camp.

"He's probably off to take inventory… _again_," Rolf bobbed energetically on his feet a few times before taking off in Soren's direction at the same pace at which he'd entered the clearing only moments before, calling over his shoulder, "I'm going to go see what I can do to help! I'll see you around later!"

Oscar gave a single wave that could have easily passed as an awkward rotation of the arm and then looked down to Rhys, his usual smile returning,

"Well! That was exciting, wasn't it? Nothing's changed much around here as far as I can tell…"

Another small cough proceeded Rhys's affirmation, "Yes, I've gathered that things are rather fast-paced as a general rule. Perhaps all the activity will improve my health."

A brief silence stretched between them as theyboth stared around curiously, unsure of how to go on with their conversation until Oscar said cheerily, "That was a rather sour introduction, don't you think? Why don't we try again? Start off on the right foot and everything?" He put out a hand. "Hello! I'm Oscar."

"Nice to meet you, Oscar," Rhys took the offered hand and shook, feeling slightly silly but playing along anyways. "You're a Royal Knight, correct? Or used to be?"

The green-haired man leaned his head to the side, smile flattening to his neutral expression, "Sometimes. I'm mostly Oscar though, or I'd like to think that I am anyways… And you are…?"

"Rhys," Rhys said, now thoroughly confused, "I'm a bishop…"

"Always?"

"Well, yes, I don't see how I could _not_ always be a bishop…"

"A bishop of what?"

"Of-" Rhys stopped short, droopy eyes widening significantly. He brought a finger to his lips in thought. "I-I don't know really, now that you mention it… I've never really thought about that before…"

Oscar scratched his head. "Aren't bishops usually from some or another religious school of thought? I think you'd know if you were Ashera's bishop or the Dark God's bishop or, I don't know, Soren's bishop," he waved an arm, indicating the tents where the latter had ventured, "wouldn't you?"

"I-" Rhys let his hand fall back to his side and stared up to the rather pensive looking Oscar-Knight-what have you's features arranged to make for quite a perplexed look.

Again, Oscar cocked his head to the side before saying comfortingly, "Why don't you think on it a while and tell me when you've figured it out, okay?" He clapped the shorter man's shoulder, smile returning, before trundling off to return to his steed's side, leaving the healer alone in the clearing with only his impending identity crisis for company.

* * *

"Rhys, what's wrong? You don't look well at all!" Mist trotted up to fall in step with her companion, visage reflecting the empathy and concern for which she was so well loved. "Has your cold gotten worse?"

Rhys waved a hand and shook his bowed head, "No, no… it's not that at all. I just met Oscar…"

"Oh? He's really wonderful, isn't he?" She beamed cherubically. "He's a good big brother to Rolf and Boyd. I'm glad he's back even if it isn't under the cheeriest of circumstances."

"He's… _interesting_," said Rhys carefully. They walked on for a while in silence before the redhead ventured cautiously, "Mist… you're not a bishop are you?"

Without the slightest trace of suspicion she replied, "Nope! I'm a cleric! Why do you ask?"

"Just curious really… see, I'm trying to determine what I'm a bishop of and I thought you might have some light to shed on the matter…"

"Is that all that's bothering you?" Mist said sounding relieved. "I wouldn't stress over it too much myself, Rhys. As long as you're happy with being a bishop does it really matter?"

She studied him with an expectant smile, waiting for an affirmative response and a return to his usual good humor. They came to a stop. Rhys swept his eyes over her as he cast about indecisively. She was too young to understand. Too young and too blissful to further perturb so lying it was.

Rhys mustered up his most convincing smile.

"Yes. You're quite right! Thank you, Mist… I'll see you around I suppose…" He quickly ducked into the nearest tent in what he hoped was a purposeful manner that would not provoke the currently pacified girl to pursue him on his unexplainable quest for vocational reassurance.

* * *

"Can I hold the clipboard?"

"No."

"Would you like me to count the bows for you? I already know that there are ten."

"No."

"Can I tally?"

"You'd have to hold the clipboard then."

"So can I?"

"_No_."

"Then can I-"

"Rolf," an irritated flick of the ebony ponytail and sharp sigh would have been enough of a message to several wiser mercenaries but more was needed to break Rolf's nearly impermeable aura of naivety, "I have this task down to a science. I do not need help, I do not need a clipboard carrier, I do not need distractions and I can complete the task _perfectly_ on my own." Soren, sermon over turned back to the supply boxed matter-of-factly. "So if you'll excuse me…"

Rolf stood by quietly for someone but silence and Rolf were never together long, "But-"

"Don't you have something better to do?"

Even Rolf knew that the edge in Soren's voice meant that it was time for him to go and he hurriedly made for the exit just as Rhys wandered in.

"He's in a bad mood, watch yourself!" warned the apprentice archer in what, to him, was a whisper. By the time Soren whipped around furiously only Rhys remained.

He coughed.

Soren sighed and turned around with forced composure. Inventory was best taken in solitude. At least Rhys wouldn't harass him with questions though.

"Soren, can I ask you something?"

Then again, perhaps he would.

"Yes, since I am clearly uninvolved in any, more important activities. Fire away, why don't you? I've got nothing better to do."

"You wouldn't happen to know what I'm a bishop of, would you?"

"You have got to be joking," the mage murmured before countering coldly, "if anything _I_ should be asking _you_ that. It seems that you would be the authority on your affiliations. Didn't you go through ranks in the church before becoming a bishop? What church was it?"

"I wasn't part of a Church…"

"Then how did you become a bishop?"

"Well I did go to a Church for that…"

Soren released a weary breath. His highly logical mind raced through where this conversation would go if he proceeded in the fashion he was currently going about it.

He could be there all afternoon.

So, the natural course of action was to take an all-knowing stance and satisfy Rhys's bizarre but evidently painful curiosity.

"You're Crimean, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, then my conclusion is that you belong to a Church of Ashera."

"That was my guess too but I don't remember anything about her in the ceremony…"

"I suspect that you should trust your gut instinct and take that guess to be the truth." Soren, in an uncharacteristic display of emotion, flashed him a smile of a questionable degree of genuinity, but a smile all the same.

Rhys was, for all it had seemed, not entirely oblivious to Soren's sarcasm and eagerness to be rid of him and, though he wished to stay and pursue the subject, recognized that he would get no further with the tactician.

"Thank you, Soren. I greatly appreciate your time and wisdom…" he trailed off, suddenly feeling very much the intruder.

"It's nothing. See you at lunch I presume…"

"Ah, yes."

"It will be good to eat Oscar's cooking again…"

Rhys started.

"Pardon?"

* * *

"Rhys?"

The healer didn't move at the sound of his name.

"Rhys?"

He heard the clink of armor.

"Rhys! Where are you?"

He felt a cough rise in his throat and struggled to suppress it but, despite his supreme efforts, uttered a choke.

"Rhys!" heavy steps brought a familiar voice to the top of the sloped bank he sat on.

"Hello, Titania," he kept his eyes on the river and observed her distorted reflection join his distorted reflection, studying him for a moment as if he might say more before turning to the river as well.

She tossed a pebble in, shattering their hydro-clones, "Surely skipping meals is not the best for your cold."

"Hm."

"Why so gloomy? It doesn't suit you at all."

"That's just it," his hopeless reflection reformed as the ripples dissipated, "What _does_ suit me? I was completely content with life until this morning and-and now," at last he looked to his long time friend, "now I don't know what to do with myself!"

"And why is that?"

"Oscar," said Rhys bitterly.

The tone and name did not click in Titania's mind.

"_Oscar?_ You mean _our_ Oscar?"

"Yes. He's made me question my entire existence… It's quite unpleasant to not know who you are anymore…" he picked up a stone and considered it for a moment before flicking his wrist and skipping it with unexpected strength and skill.

"Well how did he make you do that?"

"He asked me what kind of bishop I was," Rhys exhaled sullenly.

"Well, what kind of bishop _are_ you?"

"I don't know; that's the problem. Now it's snowballed into me completely doubting anything and everything about myself, which I know is insensible and stupid so then I feel even worse but I can't help it! I mean," he rested his chin on his knees, "I want to belong _somewhere_."

The fiery haired paladin flipped the ever-present stray locks out of her eyes with a sharp sound of disbelief.

"Rhys, you belong _here_," she put a large but still effeminately fine-boned and delicate hand on the withdrawn healer's shoulder and shook it slightly. "Silly." She gave one of her relatively rare and distant smiles that belied her age more than any other expression or feature. "Seems like Oscar's made quiet the impact on you without meaning to."

"Without meaning to? Ashera's backside, I never thought about that!" Rhys sat up straight, pounding his thighs with his fists. "Titania, I've been building up all this animosity towards him for nothing! Titania!" Rhys stood suddenly. "This is awful! I have to apologize immediately! I've upset the balance by storing up all this negative energy, doubtless. Ashnard's teeth, I've really messed things up this time…"

Before Titania could point out that, for starters, Oscar had no idea what a state Rhys had worked himself into and would be wholly taken aback if he appeared to apologize, her flustered friend had made it up the bank and was pounding in a full-out run to the Mercenaries camp.

She sighed and shook her head, not bothering to pursue. If she was correct in her guess as to Oscar's intentions (or lack thereof) it was best to leave the pair to their own devices.

* * *

Oscar shook his wet hands before drying off the remaining droplets on his tight-fitting undershirt.

Cooking was one of his greatest pleasures but it was undeniably hard work.

His usual smile dimmed slightly in the thoughtfulness of his solitary walk back to the grassy plot where he and Titania's horses were tied. He balked when he entered the clearing and saw a figure in his spot by his steed's side but his grin quickly returned when he recognized the vermillion hair combination with the white robes. The paladin walked around to the other side of his horse and began rubbing it's neck gently.

"She's pretty, isn't she?"

"Mm."

"A good companion." He finger-combed her mane carefully and particularly with one hand, peering over her neck apprehensively to where Rhys stood stroking the horse's nape meditatively.

Rhys had tired eyes, Oscar noted, rather handsome, young amber eyes but tired eyes all the same. His face was slightly flushed (Oscar guessed that he'd exerted himself recently) but the green-haired knight could tell that, beneath the pink tinge he had the awkward half-burn, half-tan of a naturally pale person who spent most of his time in the sun. The corners of his mouth were currently turned down, however, Oscar suspected that the healer smiled easily (he had an affinity for people who smiled easily).

Satisfied with his inspection, Oscar returned to his hiding spot behind the horse's head and remarked casually, as if commenting on the weather, "You're pretty cute, bishop."

"_I beg your pardon?_"

"Say, you haven't figured out what you're a bishop of yet, have you?"

"I'm not finished with your first statement, sir knight!"

"It's Oscar… just Oscar," he peeked around his horse again, head titled in that curious way that Rhys found both irritating and extremely endearing. "Do we need to introduce ourselves again?"

The pink on Rhys's cheeks turned to a bright red that clashed terribly with his hair and seemed to be at a loss for words due to a myriad of combating emotions. Eventually, civil won out and he reached over the horse, offering his hand.

"Hello. I'm Rhys."

"Rhys? Is that it?"

"Yes. Just Rhys mostly. Sometimes I'm a bishop but I'm always Rhys."

"Always?"

"Always."

Oscar finally took his hand and shook it exuberantly, beaming. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Rhys! I'm Oscar."

Their hands returned to their previous stroking and petting tasks.

"What kind of bishop are you, Rhys?"

"The kind of bishop that doesn't give a damn about what church he belongs to so long as he has a place among friends and people to care for."

"Eeps! Such strong language!"

Rhys shot a mock glare over the horse's back at Oscar who slid further towards the horse's head, expression neutral. Rhys sighed and shook his head.

"You have quite the poker face…"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."

Just as Rhys opened his mouth to explain a voice rang out soon followed by it's source.

"Oscar! Oscar!" The frenzied shouting finally got the green-clad knight's attention as the shouter neared.

"What is it, Rolf?" Oscar shouted back but an answer was provided visually before Rolf's verbal reply.

"Help me!"

"Get back here, you meddling imbecile!" Soren cleared the gap between tents in an impressive leap, usually composed and emotionless features filled with rage as he rather nimbly sprinted after the young archer.

"I promise I'll leave you alone! I promise, I promise!"

"The time for apologies is long passed." Soren came to a halt a short ways away from Rhys and Oscar and whipped out a tome, getting into attacking stance. "You've missed your chance to prove to me that you can restrain yourself. My only choice now is to put you out of commission." A ball of fire formed over the zig-zagging Rolf.

"Ahh!"

"Soren, stop!"

"Put that damn book away now before I fill you with arrows!"

Ike and Shinon burst from opposite sides of the clearing, Ike rushing after the furious mage and Shinon aiming at them both in turns, unsure of which posed a greater threat.

"Shinon, you know better than to attack the commander!"

Rhys and Oscar looked behind them in unison to where Titania was striding out, half-sharpened axe in hand and glare on her face with a concerned looking Boyd behind her carrying a whetting stone.

"Back!" Soren, meanwhile, had turned on Ike who was dodging all manner of elements while issuing protests and reprimands about how the petite mage's lack of sleep made him irrational and dangerous.

Within minutes all the Greil mercenaries were on the scene and on the verge of battle or attempting to restrain Soren until the tension broke and, as threatened, an arrow, though unaimed, was released from Shinon's bow.

"Watch out!"

"You traitor!"

"Soren, you're going to kill us all!"

"Duck, commander!"

"Grab him, Mia!"

"Rolf, stay back!"

"Brother!"

"It's coming your way!"

Rhys hit the ground as the arrow whizzed over his head and heard the distinctive noise of an arrow sinking into something. "Oscar!" He hauled himself up and saw the paladin examining the slim shaft he was holding in his hand.

"I caught it!" He remarked rather brightly.

"What?"

"I caught it!" He yelled over the clamor of their companions.

"YOU COULD OF KILLED HIM, YOU MORON!"

"AND WHO'S FAULT IS THAT!?"

"Eeps!" There was a clash of steel and several more heated, overlapping shouts that were inaudible in the overall chaos as Oscar ducked beside his horse and leaned over to see if Rhys was safe as well only to find that the healer was out of shouting distance and walking towards the melee purposefully.

"STOP!!"

A flash of light split the group and cast the camp into total silence. Those in the center of the fray were knocked to the ground by the spell, which, Oscar realized, must have been cast by the healer. There was a series of short, dry coughs which grew louder before ending in a long, forced inhale and quick exhale. "For _shame_!" Rhys put his hands on his hips surveying the would be brawlers severely. "You're all acting like children! How do you expect me to have the energy to keep you all healed and healthy if you beat each other up, never mind injuries from your enemies!"

A cough that had been lurking behind his lecture escaped here and brought a slew of friends, briefly interrupting him but not stopping the tenacious redhead entirely.

"Khem!" he fixed his most stern expression before leaving his conclusive warning, "Next time you all start something like this I'll let it play out and just see if you can convince me to put a staff to you then!" With that, he stalked back to Oscar, the shocked silence breaking into apologetic (or in some people's cases, vengeful) murmurs by the time he reached his destination.

He sneezed melancholically.

"Bless you," Oscar offered.

"Thank you." Rhys said rather fiercely.

"Well! That was exciting, wasn't it? Nothing's changed _too_ much around here as far as I can tell…"

"Yes, things are perpetually fast-paced, aren't they?" Rhys looked up, wearily.

He really had _quite_ handsome eyes, Oscar reflected.

"They certainly are! But I don't think all the activity is going to do a thing for your health."


End file.
